


I'm gonna need someone strong to catch me before I fall

by austen



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hot Archie, Multi, Post-Episode: s01e01 Pilot, i have a new ot3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 06:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9479021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austen/pseuds/austen
Summary: Betty can't hate Veronica because she's the one who's here, and Archie's not.





	

The day after Jason Blossom's body is discovered, Betty Cooper stares down at a small pill bottle, her best friend's words a constant echo in her head.

 _You're not her._ It's what Archie had meant but not what he'd said when he'd stood on her front lawn, suit jacket rumpled and tie undone and never seeming more like a little boy than in that moment. _You're too good, you're so perfect, you're better than me, I don't deserve you._ All good on paper, of course, because that was him.

It wasn't until she'd left him behind and put brick and concrete between them, slammed the front door with all her might, that she'd screamed into the silence of an empty house: _whatever happened to letting ME decide?!_

"Hey." Veronica's hand slips into her field of vision and Betty jerks, tears her gaze away from the bottle sitting in the drawer before she slams it quickly. In one movement, she pivots to both face the other girl head-on and block the drawer from Veronica's view with her body - but Veronica isn't looking there. 

She's looking at Betty's palm, at the half-moon marks that are hardening over into small dark scabs - and, reflexively, Betty curls her fingers into a fist, pulls her arm away.

"It's okay." Veronica's voice is still low, a hushed whisper. They both know she's not supposed to be here, know how ballistic Alice Cooper would get if she came home and discovered the Lodge girl under her roof. It's Tuesday, though, which means her mother will be working late, but that hasn't stopped them from maintaining an awkward conversation in a low murmur since Veronica first made good on her earlier text.

They haven't talked about what happened in the coatroom, but even as Betty's other hand finds purchase against the edge of her desk she can't summon up the energy to hate the girl who kissed Archie. Betty can't hate Veronica because she was Veronica's first text after the fact: no emojis, no shorthand, just a simple plea for Betty to hear her out. She can't hate Veronica just because a random act of chance, a simple spin of the bottle sent her and Archie into a dark, small space and they acted on latent feelings. She can't hate Veronica because she's the one who's _here_ , and Archie's not.

She doesn't realize Veronica's reached out and taken her hand until she's already doing it, turning Betty's over and prying her fingers open so that she can trace those small crescent ridges, and in spite of herself Betty sighs, a small and shuddering exhale that releases way more than just breath. 

"It's okay," Veronica says again, and Betty nods dumbly. There's a part of her brain that has a hard time believing that this is still happening; it almost feels as if she's floating outside her own body watching this scenario transpire from a short distance - watching Veronica lift her hand up slowly in order to press a kiss to Betty's skin, a cool balm that leaves a perfect imprint of her lipstick behind. 

Veronica doesn't say _I'm sorry_ with her words but she says it in every other way that matters: sliding her arms around Betty in a solid embrace, close enough for Betty to smell the scent of shampoo and the perfume Veronica dabs behind her ear. Betty stands stiff as a board for only a beat and then she's clutching on, clinging to Veronica for dear life, shoulders shaking with silent sobs and dry eyes squeezed shut. Veronica tucks her chin in against Betty's shoulder and the two of them linger, sway unconsciously, until Veronica kisses her for a second time.

It's not like the first, not for show and not trying to prove anything, and Betty realizes she doesn't have a clue how to proceed when Veronica finally pulls away. Her mouth is a smudge of maroon and Betty can only imagine how her own must look, but she only stands there, half-gaping. 

"W-why did you do that?" is the one thing she can think to ask.

Veronica's answer is quiet, simple. _Perfect._

"Because I wanted to."

*

Betty Cooper is going to be, without question, the saving grace of this miserable town.

Veronica already knows Betty is too good for this place, too good to occupy the same plane as practically every other person in Riverdale. What's sobering about all of it is how much of her old self she sees in Betty, all those smiles-that-don't-quite-reach-her-eyes and a desire to please that borders on self-harm. Veronica was there, once, and while she swears out loud she'll never go back there's still that small part of her that wonders how easy it would be to slip back into the facade.

Betty has perfect down to an art, and the worst part is that she's got even her best friend fooled.

It could be that this is the tipping point, that the desire to finally push back against perfection is what has Betty allowing Veronica to nudge her back on the bed, tangling her hands in Veronica's hair as they kiss. There's a beat when she decides to perform a small experiment in nibbling Betty's lower lip, and the unconscious tilt of Betty's hips into hers paired with a soft gasp leaves Veronica unable to stop herself from smirking, a palpable curving of her mouth.

These cheerleading skirts are _god_ awful but they're good for one thing, and Veronica's hand is already trailing lower, up and under. She's willing to venture a guess - maybe not an educated one, but nevertheless - that Betty won't shy away when she tries to touch her, gently nudging the fabric of her panties to one side. Her ears are firmly attuned and she hears Betty's breath catch, but there's very clearly not a sound of protest and if anything it all dissolves into a moan when Veronica ghosts fingertips over slick skin.

It's an apology, of course, a prayer of atonement, but what Veronica really wants more than anything is to make sure Betty's seen the way she deserves to be seen. She'd only had to take one look at Archie to know he wasn't going to be capable of doing that any time soon. The mere thought of that unspoken third party between them hovers like a weight in this room, and Veronica breaks the kiss to let her lips trail down Betty's neck, opening her eyes for a fraction of a second. It's quick, but it's enough.

She doesn't know what compels her to look - it could be this town, with the darkness that seems to bleed out beyond the borders of normal shadow and the whispers that have followed her ever since she stepped foot into Pop's - but she tears her gaze away from Betty's flushed face and allows it to drift out the window to the house across the way.

There's no telling how long Archie has been standing there watching through the glass, filling the frame. From what details she can make out he's in the process of dressing or undressing, somewhere in between, and but she's too far away to gauge the expression on his face, the look in his eyes.

 _See_ , she thinks at him, smirking again over the curve of Betty's throat. _It could be you making her feel like this. It could be you should have been you with her with me in theclosetinherbedyourfingersinsideherdontyouwanttoknowwhatshetasteslike._

Veronica keeps her gaze locked on Archie's right up until the moment she slips her head under Betty's skirt.

*

He braces a hand against the window frame and tries to steady himself, too nervous to look away and too overwhelmed to stop staring. There are things his senses dimly register: the faint smell of his own sweat, the pounding of his heart everywhere he can feel a pulse, the way he can't quite manage to take a breath.

He's hard, too. That much he can tell even in the midst of the rest of it, and his first instinct is to press his heel against the bulge in his jeans, to make it go away. It would be a pointless move, but that's never stopped him from trying before. 

His mind is a whirlwind of competing thoughts and images and as he watches the silent tableau play out some deep-down piece of him wishes he could add a soundtrack to it: Betty's moans, Ronnie's murmurs. He swallows to stop himself from adding his own song to the mix. _For once, Archie, this is not about you._

On the bed, Betty arches, crests; he squints to try and make out what he's really seeing, bring it into focus - the girls' hands linked, fingers laced together, a physical tether to one another to let Ronnie bring his best friend down slowly, gradually.

Only then does he blink, suck in air. He glances down at himself for a beat. He's sweaty-sticky, his jeans not nearly as taut anymore. His palm falters its grip against the doorframe as his body sags visibly.

"Fuck," Archie says.

When he looks up again, the blinds are closed.


End file.
